


the killer’s keeper

by bloodlust



Category: NCT (Band), SuperM (Korea Band)
Genre: Action, Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Blood and Injury, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-16 06:47:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28952163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodlust/pseuds/bloodlust
Summary: Mark Lee once prided himself for creating a Triple-A rated protection service that could protect anybody.Once.Until the world’s most notorious contract killer, Lucas Wong, fucked it all up.To top it all off. he now has to transport him to The Hague in just twenty-seven (27) hours.or: where Mark has to protect Lucas Wong, the man he has loathed for years, and realizes that maybe—just maybe—he would take a bullet for this man.
Relationships: Mark Lee/Wong Yuk Hei | Lucas
Comments: 19
Kudos: 103
Collections: In Another Life





	the killer’s keeper

**Author's Note:**

> special thanks to [mari](https://www.twitter.com/kuns_dimples) for being the best and most patient beta! please do check out their [works](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mkhhhx)!
> 
> ps: as i am not from any of the countries listed below, i apologise for any mistakes with the foreign languages i’ve used in some of the scenes. the translations are provided in the end notes.
> 
> all other mistakes are **mine**.

#  **MARK**

**RUE HEUDELET, DIJON, FRANCE  
1329H – 07 FEBRUARY**

Mark sighs.

A slow, barely audible, heavy breath escapes his lips as he stares into nothingness, trying to muster just enough courage to knock on the quaint brown door in front of him.

There’s a knot in the pit of his stomach, tightening with every quiet tick of his worn-out wristwatch, and his knees feel wobbly to the point that even the weightless blood bags that he’s carrying in a metallic container somehow feels heavier than before.

 _Boring is always best, my ass_ , he thinks to himself, biting the insides of his cheeks as he tentatively raises his left hand to knock on the door. He’s acting ridiculous, _he knows_ , but his brain just can’t seem to accept the reality that after three whole years, he’s finally— _finally_ —only a few feet away from someone who has simultaneously been the best and worst thing that has ever happened in his life.

_Nakyung._

“Are you going to knock or should I wait five more minutes behind this door?”

The question startles Mark, prompting him to reflexively reach for the gun on his hip, but freezes on the spot as soon as he sees the face of a young woman peeking between the small gap of the door and the wall with a pistol aimed at his stomach.

“ _Well_ ,” he coos, a small smile playing on his lips as he attempts his best at sounding nonchalant. “Hello to you, too, Agent Lee.”

Nakyung’s expression doesn’t change, displaying the usual stone-cold glare and pursed lips that she has always worn ever since their first meeting, but it’s still enough to send the resting butterflies in Mark’s stomach into a frenzy.

She yanks the door chain, allowing him to get a good glimpse of the apartment’s interior, before tilting her head and gesturing for him to follow her. “Come this way.”

Although it’s quite spacious for a standard Interpol safe house, the room still looks normal— _cozy_ , even—and the furniture blends well with the old design of the building in spite of the sofas having a certain whiff of newness to them.

It’s the same as any other safe houses he’s been in.

Mark puts down the metallic container on the coffee table and follows Nakyung through the narrow corridor leading up to the dining room, subtly checking inside each of the opened doors as they pass through them.

“Why am I here, Nakyung?” Mark asks after a few seconds of dead silence, still suspicious about the other’s motives. He knows for a fact that Nakyung would rather have her own head on a pike— _her words, not his_ —than to call him in for a favor.

Much less allow him near a _transport_.

Before he can conclude his thoughts, however, Nakyung stops just outside the unopened door at the end of the corridor, visibly and audibly taking in a deep breath before turning around to face him. She casts her eyes down, her entire demeanor seemingly changing like someone has just switched off a light, and finally lowers her voice into a whisper. “I need you to escort a high-value transport. He’s a witness in the Dictator’s trial in The Hague.”

Mark stares at her, waiting for her to say that it’s all a ploy and that a dozen Interpol agents are waiting behind the closed door, armed and ready to arrest him, but she _doesn’t_. Instead, she looks expectantly at him, brows woven together in thought and cheeks flushed in what he can only assume as a look of embarrassment.

For the first time ever since he’s known her, Nakyung genuinely looks worried—and Mark doesn’t know how to react to it.

He chuckles humorlessly instead, still keeping his blasé façade on. “I don’t do high-value transports anymore, Agent Lee. You remember that, right? Or should I take you on a stroll down memory lane?”

“ _Jesus Christ, Mark_ ,” Nakyung murmurs under her breath, briefly closing her eyes as she clenches her free hand into a fist. When she opens them again, the Nakyung that Mark knows so well is back, but this time, with a scowl on her face. “We don’t have time for this conversation again. If he doesn’t get there at seventeen-hundred hours tomorrow, the Dictator will be reinstated and all the victims of his human rights violations won’t get justice.”

“ _You_ don’t have time for this conversation,” he points out. “ _I_ , on the other hand, have all the time in the world because I’m not transporting whoever the fuck is behind that door.”

“You’re right. I don’t.” Nakyung glances at the unopened door in front of her, raising her free hand to support the one she’s using to hold her pistol. “Now, can we—”

“You two done? I kind of lost a lot of blood here.”

Mark quickly turns to the direction of the voice, curious as to who his transport is and why he’s considered as a ‘high-value’ by Nakyung, only to immediately regret his decision.

There, standing in the doorway with a makeshift bandage wrapped around the lower part of his left shin, is the bane of Mark’s existence.

International fugitive and contract killer, _Lucas Wong_.

“Son of a bitch,” Mark hisses.

“If it isn’t Mark _fucking_ Lee,” Lucas greets him with a lopsided grin, slightly wincing as he leans against the door frame. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this.”

With one swift motion, the man in front of them withdraws a muzzled handgun behind his back and aims at Mark, prompting Mark to instinctively grab onto the contract killer’s arm and move his body out of the gun’s line of fire before pushing the weapon out of Lucas’ hand.

Lucas leans back, trying to elbow the side of his head, but Mark ducks the second he sees it swinging towards him and keeps his grip on the contract killer’s arm to switch their positions. He flings himself at Lucas then, ready to tackle him, but Lucas only uses his attack to his advantage as he grasps Mark’s neck with his free hand and backs him to a wall with just enough force to make him gasp for air.

Mark twists his body around with struggle, eventually managing to raise both his arms to chop at Lucas’ shoulders with the edges of his hands. His attack elicits a pained groan from the man and Mark wastes no time seizing the opportunity to kick at Lucas’ wounded shin before moving his body to the kitchen as fast as his legs allow him.

The whole apartment falls dead silent except for the contract killer’s labored breathing, harsh and loud as he struggles to stay upright, and Mark sees Lucas clutching at his knee while a thick trail of blood gushes out his leg. The man bares his teeth and glares at him through half-lidded eyes. “You little shit.”

Mark sighs in relief as he watches Lucas fall unconscious, letting the man’s massive body hit the floor with a soft thud before allowing himself to laugh incredulously. “Seriously, Nakyung? You want me to protect _that_ motherfucker?”

“Get the blood bags before he bleeds out,” Nakyung simply tells him, rushing to Lucas’ side to apply pressure on the man’s open wound.

“I don’t think you’re getting my point.” Mark runs his fingers through his hair, running his tongue over his teeth in frustration. “He could’ve killed me just now.”

“But he _didn’t_. You should count yourself lucky.” Nakyung takes out a handkerchief from her back pocket and ties it securely around Lucas’ shin, making sure to keep her hand pressed on the wound.

There’s something peaceful about watching Nakyung do everything so calmly even with the obvious time constraint, Mark realizes, his eyes tracing her face as he embeds every detail of it in his mind.

It would take a long time before he could see her again after this.

Probably even never.

“Fine,” he says, finally answering a question that Nakyung hasn’t even posed in the first place. He squats down beside her and pushes Lucas’ body up in a sitting position, carefully lifting the contract killer from behind and placing him on the couch inside the room that Lucas came out from.

Mark clears his throat as he moves away from the man’s body. “I’ll do my best to transport him.”

Nakyung looks up at him with a raised brow, seemingly surprised at what he’s just told her. “Don’t worry, I’ll ask the Union to give you back your Triple-A status.”

“No need,” he replies softly, motioning at the plain gold band on her left ring finger. “Consider it a late wedding gift.”

Nakyung glances down at her own bloodied hands, her face lighting up a little as she looks at her wedding ring. “Thank you, Mark.”

Mark smiles—a genuine smile this time—despite the dull ache in his chest. “Truce?”

“Truce.”

#  **LUCAS**

**RUE HEUDELET, DIJON, FRANCE  
1602H – 07 FEBRUARY  
25** HOURS BEFORE DEADLINE

_He’s getting rusty._

It’s an absurd thing to think about, he keeps telling himself—especially given the fact that it has only been two years and a half since he’s been thrown into that boring hellhole—except the searing pain of the small graze on his shin has an entirely different opinion.

It feels far more painful than any of the bullets he has ever taken on the job.

 _Fucking Interpol custody made me soft_ , he thinks to himself, wincing as he sits upright to take the blood transfusion needle out of his right arm.

He glances at his wound, half-expecting it to be festered and reeking with the familiar metallic tang of dried blood, only to raise a brow once he sees that it has been cleaned and properly dressed. His clothes appear fresh, too; a little hipster-like for his liking, _sure_ , but they’re far more comfortable than what those dumbassess at Interpol had originally dressed him in.

His eyes unconsciously wander to the man in front of him, seemingly lost in thought as he paces the entire length of the room back and forth while quietly humming a familiar tune.

In the seven years that he has been an active contract killer, the thought of what _The Bodyguard_ is like up-close has always bugged him. They’ve only ever had one close encounter before but he knows that it’s not enough to make his idea of Mark as this the cold, emotionless, piece-of-shit human garbage that all the other contract killers seem to have a slight obsession with go away.

It has never even once crossed his mind that the former world-famous executive protection agent would be this… _average_.

And he couldn’t help but feel amused at that thought.

“Where’s your girlfriend?”

Mark stops directly in front of him, alternately looking between his arm and his shin, probably to see if he’s already fit for travel, and meets his gaze. “Get up. We have to get going.”

“Your deflection skill needs polishing, golden boy,” he mutters quietly as he stands up and readies himself, slightly limping from the couch to the bedside table.

The man doesn’t say anything in return, choosing to simply observe him from the other side of the room with his arms crossed on his chest while he taps his right foot on the floor in a slow rhythm.

There’s a hint of softness in the man’s eyes despite his otherwise stoic expression, Lucas notices, and a small part of him wonders whether it’s real or just the side-effect of the painkillers they gave him while he was indisposed.

“How are you supposed to protect me, anyway?” Lucas decides to ask instead, adding just enough bite to the question to make it sound like a challenge. “I’ve almost killed you at least, _what_ , twenty-eight times now?”

“ _Almost_ ,” the man stresses, his lips seemingly trying to suppress a small, sweet smile—as if he’s reminiscing a fond memory that he isn’t supposed to remember. “And it’s twenty-nine, by the way, or have you already forgotten about Paris?”

Lucas chuckles, finally understanding why everyone keeps making such a big fuss about this man during the height of his golden days.

_The Bodyguard is fucking adorable._

“You know how the saying goes,” Lucas remarks. “We’ll always have Paris.”

Mark huffs out a humorless laugh, eyes slightly wrinkling on the sides as he turns away, only to be interrupted by the loud telephone ring from the receiving area.

They pause, both waiting for any sort of indication that there’s someone waiting for them outside the door.

Lucas has been in the industry long enough to know that it’s Interpol protocol to send a shit ton of officers inside a safe house if no one answers the call by the fifth ring.

“ _Shit_ ,” he hears Mark curse under his breath as he motions to the door, taking out a suppressed, semi-automatic handgun from inside his coat before handing it to him. Mark peeks through the thin openings of the window blinds, eyes moving rapidly around the perimeter below them, and sighs. “All right, listen. This building has two stairwells, no—”

“Fire escapes and no adjacent rooftops,” Lucas finishes for him, waiting for Mark by the door. “Already way ahead of you, golden boy.”

“Good.” Mark opens the door, sticking out his head to see whether the hallway leading to both the north and south stairwells is clear. “And stop calling me that.”

He exaggerates a pout in response, still hellbent on getting a rise out of the man, when his ears pick up a muffled conversation and the beeping sound of a two-way radio behind the double doors to the north stairwell.

“We have bogeys through those doors. I hear at least four of them talking.”

Mark visibly clenches his jaw. “Fine. We’ll just take the fire escape through the other stairwell. Let’s just hope no one’s waiting for us there.”

Lucas wrinkles his nose, looking at the ceiling to distract Mark from what he’s about to do, before kicking at one of the double-doors, taking both Mark and the men behind it by surprise. He then moves quickly—using his whole body to dodge, retaliate, and lessen the pressure on his left leg—and drills a single bullet into each of the men’s skulls.

“You were saying?” Lucas asks, looking up at Mark from the stairwell’s landing with a cocked brow, only to be greeted by the sight of Mark fighting the men coming down from the floor above them. “Ah, _fuck_.”

He rushes to climb the stairs, swallowing a grunt of pain as he twists his left leg but still pushes forward, arriving on the top of the stairs just in time to shoot at a man who has a gun aimed at Mark’s head.

“Thank—” Mark starts, but Lucas cut him off, raising a finger in front of his mouth in a shushing gesture.

“Don’t sweat it, sweetheart.”

Mark stares at him in disbelief for a brief moment, the tips of his ears visibly turning into a deep shade of red even with their dim surroundings, before clearing his throat and hurriedly moving away. “Let’s try the rooftop.”

Well, that’s… _interesting_.

Lucas climbs upstairs, slightly limping as he closely follows Mark’s lead, all the while trying to make sense of the other man.

There are still bits and pieces of a standard CIA officer in The Bodyguard despite not being affiliated with them for years, Lucas observes, and yet something about his skills and fighting techniques feels off. It’s different—a little average at first look, _perhaps_ , but Lucas finds himself drawn to it, making his interest in the man pique even more.

 _Aiming to wound instead of killing_ , he thinks to himself. _What kind of former law enforcement does that?_

The loud, banging sound of the exit door from behind him pulls him out of his reverie, his eyes refocusing to find Mark looking down from the ledge of the rooftop. There’s a noticeable gap, visible even from where he’s standing, between the building they’re in and the supported scaffolding of the unfinished one next to it.

Lucas taps his fingers on the side of his thigh, already picking up the sound of the heavy boots marching their way up to the rooftop as he hastily calculates in his head whether or not he could make the jump on one leg.

It’s a little wide for an alley, but it isn’t impossible to get to, especially with the large garbage container conveniently placed directly on his supposed landing.

“Don’t you dare,” Mark warns, as if hearing his thoughts and sensing what he’s about to do.

“Unless you have any other alternative, golden boy, this is the only way we’re getting away from whoever is coming out of that exit door.”

“ _You idiot_ ,” Mark snaps. “You’re going to die if you do that.”

He smirks.

“Haven’t you heard?” Lucas asks, looking at Mark with the proudest and most shit-eating grin he could put on. “I’m unkillable, darling.”

And then he jumps.

#  **MARK**

**MARTIGNY-LES-GERBONVAUX, FRANCE  
1902H – 07 FEBRUARY  
23** HOURS BEFORE DEADLINE

Deciding to protect and transport an international fugitive all the way to The Hague from France within a specific time frame might be one of the worst—if not _the_ worst—decisions he has ever made.

Lucas Wong has been the most prized and most successful student of the world’s most notorious assassin, Darius Kincaid. He has killed more than a hundred people during his seven-year spree as a contract killer, almost exceeding half the number of Kincaid’s victims, until he finally got apprehended by the CIA who then turned him over to Interpol’s custody.

As far as he knows, however, the details of the man’s arrest are still in strict confidence of the CIA.

A piece of information that Mark can get by; Lucas is a wildfire, after all, too fickle to tame and too uncontrollable to predict, and releasing how he has been arrested can do more harm on the CIA than on him.

It’s silly. He can still distinctly remember writing down all the accounts of their long-distance encounters in a small journal that he keeps in his safe, making sure to take note of the man’s methods in order to keep himself and his transports out of harm’s way, only for Lucas to pull a completely different stunt every time their paths crossed.

Mark presses his tongue on the roof of his mouth, trying to shake away the memories creeping back in his mind.

This man has made five supposedly meaningful years of his life hell, _for fuck’s sake_ , and yet here they both are, listening to Bruno Mars’ _Runaway Baby_ in the world’s shittiest getaway car—as if they didn’t just stupidly jump off the rooftop of a five-story building trying to escape Interpol and all the mercenaries racing to detach Lucas’ head from his neck.

“ _So_ … you and Agent Lee had some sort of history, huh?” Lucas asks out of the blue after a row of police cars have passed. “I couldn’t help but overhear. You two were very loud earlier.”

Mark keeps his eyes on the road, refusing to give any more of his personal details to the man on the passenger seat. “How about you just sit back and take a nap? It’ll be a long night. Someone might spot you if you keep leaning like that on the window.”

“And miss my only chance at spending the night with you?”

Mark bites the insides of his cheeks, feeling himself flush at the question.

Lucas knows exactly how to work his charm on people—at least, if the stories of all the field officers he has previously worked with during his short time in law enforcement are to be believed—and Mark’s more than willing to play _that_ game with him just so he could one-up the man.

Except his body’s reactions seem to always get the best of him.

“Sorry,” the man whispers, voice low and just audible enough for Mark to hear. He glances to his side, curious as to what the other man’s going on about, but Lucas immediately supplements his apology. “You looked uncomfortable.”

“ _No_ ,” Mark says, way too fast than he intends it to be. He clears his throat, eyes going back to the road. “No, don’t worry. I really don’t mind.”

Lucas simply hums in response, probably unsure whether he’s serious or not, Mark guesses, and proceeds to adjust his seat into a reclined position without adding anything.

Mark knows he should leave the conversation at that. The rational part of himself has always told him that the less conversation between him and his clients, the easier the transport will be. He isn’t their friend, after all, and he could care less of what they think of him.

 _And yet_.

The palpable, awkward tension in the air is making him feel guilty.

 _Fuck it_.

“Plus,” Mark adds before he could even think twice about what’s going to come out of his mouth. “I’ve already outsmarted you twenty-nine times before, I think surviving your lousy attempt at flirting would be a lot easier.”

“ _Lousy_?” Lucas asks almost immediately, sitting upright on the otherwise reclined seat to look at Mark’s side profile. “Is that a challenge, _mon cher_?”

“No.”

“Then challenge accepted,” Lucas concludes as he lies back down.

Mark could practically feel the man’s grin even without looking at him, the hairs on the back of his neck going up as he feels his eyes drilling holes in his skull, seemingly trying to get into his head.

He clears his throat once more, feeling his cheeks reddened under the man’s gaze. “How’s your leg?”

“Hm?” Mark hears Lucas adjust his seat again, thankfully taking his eyes off of him. “What about it?”

“You have a bullet-shaped hole in your leg,” Mark reasons, glancing at Lucas with his brows pulled together.

“And? It’s just a scratch, I’m sure you’ve had your fair share of bullet-shaped wounds,” the man answers with a shrug. Lucas, on the other hand, pauses on his seat as if a realization has just dawned on him. “Hold on, how many times have you been shot?”

It’s Mark’s turn to shrug. “Negative.”

“ _Bullshit_ ,” the man beside him says. “You’re telling me you’ve never taken a bullet for a client before?”

“Never had to,” Mark responds, feeling a little bit proud of himself. “Unlike you, I make sure to always prepare for everything.”

Lucas snorts. “You weren’t even prepared in Paris, hotshot.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Mark grumbles. He’s seriously starting to regret ever mentioning Paris to the man. “That was a one-time thing.”

Even though the details of what had transpired that night are still fresh in his memory, Mark has never talked about what had happened between them to anyone. It’s his first and only close encounter with Lucas, albeit their two-year skirmish, and he wasn’t aware at the time that the man is… _well_ … full of surprises.

The flashing neon light of the nearby motel’s signage distracts him, reminding him about the traffic cameras all over the place when they were trying to get away from the safe house.

“We have to stop and change cars,” he announces, making a left turn towards the motel’s parking lot. Mark turns to Lucas, sensing the man’s eyes on him once more. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” the man answers with a shrug. “Just trying to figure you out.”

Mark raises a brow. “And how’s that going so far?”

“You know what, sweetheart?” Lucas smiles as he unbuckles his seatbelt. “I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

#  **LUCAS**

**LIVANGE, LUXEMBOURG  
2232H – 07 FEBRUARY  
20** HOURS BEFORE DEADLINE

Mark has been awfully silent for a good chunk of the ride.

The man’s exhausted, Lucas notes after they’ve changed cars, and he looks as if he’s solely concentrating on staying awake.

Lucas mindlessly taps his fingers on the empty space under the car’s side window, trying to think of a good way to break the ice without making it awkward. Mark isn’t that big on talking, that much is already obvious, and although it isn’t difficult to hold a decent conversation with him, Lucas just can’t seem to figure out a way to make his charm properly work on him.

“You good?”

Mark spares him a glance but doesn’t respond, only rubbing his eyes as he stifles a yawn.

He tries again. “How long did you sleep last night?”

“I didn’t,” the man answers with a sigh. “I was out on a job in Geneva before Nakyung called me to pick you up.”

Lucas raises a brow in question. “Nakyung?”

“Agent Lee.”

 _Bad break-up_ , Lucas thinks to himself, noticing how Mark subtly tightens his grip on the steering wheel after he mentions her name. It makes sense, he supposes, especially since their careers are on two completely different ends of the spectrum.

_She’s bad for his business and his business is bad for her career._

“Someone’s following us,” he mentions casually after a few minutes of total silence, making sure to give Mark enough time to clear out his thoughts.

“What?”

“That SUV.” Lucas motions at the rear-view mirror, pointing out the dim headlights of the large vehicle behind them. “It’s been trailing us since we left the motel.”

“ _Shit_ ,” Mark cusses out loud, glancing back and forth at both the rear-view mirror and side mirror. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I could be wrong. We don’t have any eyes on the hostiles and it’d be difficult to fight them with only a few bullets.” Lucas looks back, watching the vehicle gain speed as theirs slows down. “Keep driving, you’re in no position to fight.”

Mark puffs out a breath and pulls over, drawing his gun out from its holster after taking his seatbelt off. “Says who?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be prepared firs— _fucking hell, Mark_.”

Lucas jumps out of his seat as soon as Mark bolts out of his side of the car, limping as he runs towards a huge tree with the gun that Mark had given him earlier. He watches as the vehicle that is trailing them stops a few meters away from their own before unloading a group of armed men, each with a ridiculous flashlight above their heads.

They’re the Dictator’s men, no doubt, and he knows from experience that these mercenaries are as ruthless as the man they’ve pledged to serve and worship.

They wouldn’t stop until they finally have his head delivered.

The mercenaries inspect the car, probably checking whether they’re still inside, before implanting a bulk of cylinders on top of the hood.

 _God-fucking-dammit_ , he thinks.

It’s their only ride out of the country and they’re still hours away from the border.

He hears five muzzled gunshots from his right side, indicating that Mark is somewhere near him, followed by a loud blast and a commotion from the road.

Five men down within just mere seconds.

Though the bullets have only incapacitated them, Lucas has to admit that The Bodyguard’s shots are all impressive—shots that he definitely would’ve praised, especially considering the lack of lighting around them—have they not drawn the rest of the men’s attention towards their direction.

The mercenaries rush to surround them, leaving Lucas no choice but to quietly and swiftly move to where he sensed Mark’s location was… which, turns out, is just behind the bushes to his right.

“Are you out of your goddamn mind?”

“Not that I know of,” Mark answers, voice barely above a whisper. Lucas could see the tiredness rapidly settling in on the man’s face under the moonlight.

There’s no way Mark could take on the approaching mercenaries without passing out.

“ _Damn it_ ,” he mutters to himself. “Stay here. I’ll take care of it.”

Lucas pushes himself up, careful not to step on anything that would reveal his location to the men, and goes straight to his previous position. There are about five of them scattered in that area, each carrying assault rifles strapped to their bodies, and he can see the protective gears peeking underneath their shirts if he squints hard enough.

 _Heads, then_ , he thinks, approaching the nearest mercenary first, forcefully snapping his neck until it cracks before moving onto the others and doing the same. He then quickly reaches for one of the assault rifles using its night vision-equipped scope to track Mark’s movements and find where the other men are located.

Lucas acts fast, spraying bullets at the remaining men before any of them could reach Mark. He has never missed a kill before— _well_ , at least except for that one time he thought he could kill Mark—and he sure as hell isn’t going to miss one now. 

The last of the men in his vision falls down and lays still just as Mark emerges from the darkness, pulling the unconscious body of one of the mercenaries to lay it on the road before looking around at the other bodies on the ground. He glances at Lucas with a blank expression. “I was handling it.”

Lucas snorts. “ _Right_. Thank you, my hero.”

Mark only sighs, probably too sleepy to come up with a quick retort, Lucas guesses. The Bodyguard stops in the middle of the road to give him a once-over. “The cars are all fucked up. Can you still walk?”

Lucas nods, wincing in pain as he feels the adrenaline slowly wearing down. His entire body feels sore, like it’s being devoured by flames, and the pain on his left leg is starting to come back. He follows Mark’s lead, wondering how the man knows the place so well, and hobbles as they cross the vast stretch of a grass field just to reach an alternative road.

“You could’ve easily aimed for their heads earlier,” he murmurs under his breath, not caring whether the man in front of him hears him or not. “It would’ve saved us a lot of time.”

Mark doesn’t look back. “I’m not a killer.”

“How’s that any different from protecting one?”

The man turns his head to the side but continues walking without saying anything in return. They carry on the rest of the way in silence until the faint sound of a vehicle’s engine approaching makes Lucas halt. “Lights.”

A mini-coach slows down on the road, honking at them twice before going to a full stop.

“ _Moien_ ,” the driver greets in a singsong as he opens the mini-coach’s door. He isn’t anywhere near a threat, Lucas assesses, feeling some sort of relief that they don’t have to exert any more effort after what they’ve just been through. “ _Schwätzt du Lëtzebuergesch_?”

“ _Nee_ ,” The Bodyguard answers for both of them, suddenly appearing beside him. “ _Englesch_.”

“Ah. Where are you two gentlemen off to?”

“Brussels,” Mark responds sheepishly with a small smile, his tone sounding more of a question rather than an answer.

It’s strange seeing that man like this, Lucas thinks inwardly. It’s as if he’s looking at an entirely different person.

The driver beams at them, way too cheerful for someone who’s about to drive at least three hundred kilometers at this hour, and motions for them to hop inside the vehicle. “Come on in. We could drop you off at the Royal Palace, is that okay?”

“Yes. _Villmols merci_ ,” Mark says with a bow before asking Lucas to go inside first. 

He obliges, simply to check on the passengers, and releases a breath of relief once he’s met with a group of nuns. He bows at them in greeting, copying Mark’s earlier gesture to at least show some kind of respect, before occupying the front row. Mark then sits on the empty seat beside him, letting out a heavy sigh as he places his head on the head restraint.

“What’s in Brussels?” Lucas asks.

“I have a place there.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Lucas says softly, causing the man to look over to him with a confused expression on his face. He grins. “That’s really sweet, sweetheart, but you could at least buy me dinner first.”

Mark stares at him blankly before rolling his eyes and subtly flips him off. Lucas chuckles, shifting a little closer to the man’s personal space without being too intrusive. He can see the bags under Mark’s eyes and he feels somewhat concerned that he’s going to pass out if tries to stay awake for the rest of the ride.

Lucas gently nudges him. “You should go to sleep.”

The Bodyguard groans, briefly closing his eyes and shutting them tightly as he presses the palms of his hands over them, before opening them once again and leaning his head slightly towards Lucas’ body. “I can’t. I can’t let you out of my sight.”

“Yes, you can,” he says, snaking a hand up to the side of the man’s head so Mark can rest it on his shoulder. “And don’t worry, I won’t go anywhere.”

“Why should I trust you?” Mark slurs a little but doesn’t move from his position—instead, the man only sinks further into Lucas, burying his face onto his arm.

Lucas simply smiles to himself. “You shouldn’t.”

#  **MARK**

**RUE DUPONT, SCHAERBEEK, BELGIUM  
0406H – 08 FEBRUARY  
13** HOURS BEFORE DEADLINE

_Home._

Well… he isn’t entirely sure if he can still call it that anymore. Everything inside seems out of place, different from what he can remember, and he can’t help but feel as if he’s being suffocated by the hollowness of his own house.

It isn’t as lively and attractive as it had been when he had first bought it. The other furniture, along with the several framed pictures of him and Nakyung, has long been gone, only to be replaced by an ugly, empty space—one which he has no idea how to fill. 

The sound of the shower being turned off thankfully distracts him from reminiscing further into the past and causes him to divert his attention toward his bathroom’s door instead. He hangs the damp face towel that he’s been using to dry his hair on his shoulder, letting the excess droplets roll down on his face, and patiently waits for his transport to finish cleaning himself.

Lucas goes out of the bathroom half-naked, one of Mark’s fresh towels wrapped around his waist and another one thrown over his shoulders, and winks at him. “Like what you see?”

“No.” Mark takes the first aid kit from his dresser, shaking away the image of an unconscious Lucas lying naked on the bed of the Interpol’s safehouse in his mind, and motions for the man to get on the bed. “Sit.”

“ _Oh_?” Lucas raises a brow at him, grinning as he sits on the edge of the bed and watches Mark kneel right in front of him. “I didn’t know you were this easy, darling.”

Mark glares at him and swats the side of his left leg, feeling a bit of satisfaction when the man yelps in pain. “I’m just going to clean your wound, asshole.”

The man doesn’t say anything in return, but Mark can feel his eyes staring right at him, watching him disinfect and wrap a clean bandage around his left leg with his dark, round eyes.

Lucas doesn’t seem to flinch in discomfort anymore—a good sign, Mark guesses, seeing as he’s sort of worried that the man’s injury will worsen and slow them down.

_Worried._

The word leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. He’s never once thought that he’d be worried for someone like Lucas Wong. He can distinctly remember how his co-trainees at Sherman Kent had labeled the contract killer as a menace and a threat—a great beast that they can’t seem to either contain or extinguish.

And yet, even after all of the ideas about Lucas that have been ingrained in his mind, Mark can’t seem to stop himself from playing his game.

Mark almost laughs.

_Who knew it would take only thirteen hours for the man’s charm to work on him?_

“All done,” he announces, quickly standing up to tuck the first aid kit away in case the man decides that he can use it to his advantage.

“Thank you,” Lucas murmurs as he takes a set of Mark’s oversized clothes that he has set aside on top of the dresser, stepping back in the bathroom and leaving Mark alone to his thoughts.

His eyes unconsciously follow the man’s retreating figure, gaze lingering on Lucas’ bare skin. He notices the scars on the man’s back and the slightly faded tattoos of two wolves near his shoulders. For a seasoned contract killer who has evaded the law for seven years, the man has more scars than any of the people he’d seen in the CIA’s black sites.

“Where should I put this?” Lucas asks loudly, face clouded as he looks at the towels on his arm in confusion. Mark stares at him blankly and stretches a hand towards the laundry basket to the man’s right. Lucas only pouts at him in turn, but neatly places the two towels inside before making his way to the bed.

Mark turns the lights off. “Get some rest. We’ll leave in five hours.”

“Mark,” his transport calls out in a thick, low voice just before Mark twists the doorknob. “ _C’mere_.”

He reluctantly looks back, somewhat relieved that the lights are turned off because he feels his ears heat up as he sees the man laying on the left side of the mattress leaving an empty space for him to lie down. Mark clenches his jaw, trying to keep the warm sensation on the back of his neck from creeping up to his face. “Why?”

The contract killer stays silent, not offering any explanation as to why he called him, and Mark briefly wonders if Lucas has already fallen asleep from exhaustion—only for the contract killer to prop himself up on an elbow. “Please?”

It’s either because of the man’s charm or because he’s slowly losing his sanity; Mark has no idea what compels him to do just as Lucas has asked him to. He releases a breath and nods in the darkness. “Fine.”

He lays as far as possible as he can on the right side of the bed, putting an ample amount of space between their bodies, and silently stares at the ceiling.

The details of their ride from Luxembourg to Brussels are still fuzzy in his mind. He can recall his conversation with the driver, but the rest of it is hazy. All he can remember is that he woke up to the sound of Lucas’ voice chatting with the nuns they were traveling with.

“Can I ask you something?” Lucas pipes up from his side, still propped up on his elbow.

“Hm?”

“What made you lose your Triple-A status?”

Mark feels his own breathing stop.

He’s never once thought that he’d hear someone ask him _that_ —especially not Lucas, of all people. No one has bothered asking him what happened to his firm all those years ago, even his go-to car wash business had never said anything about his sudden change from parading himself in a Bentley to picking up transports in a 2010 Honda Civic.

“Manila,” Mark confesses, finally letting the man in on the secret that he and Nakyung have kept for so long. “You killed one of my high profile transports.”

A pause.

“Zimmerman?”

Mark nods, not bothering to figure out whether Lucas could see him or not. “Yes.”

“He was a corrupt politician and a fucking drug lord.”

“I know.”

Lucas falls silent for a brief moment, possibly absorbing what Mark has just told him, and then lays back down again, joining him to stare at the ceiling.

It has been three years since he had been stripped off of that status, three years since he’s lost everything, including the love of his life, and three years since he’s been ordered by the Union to stop transporting VIPs.

“I’m sorry,” the man says in a whisper. “I didn’t know it’d cost you a lot.”

“It was a long time ago. I’ve already moved on.” He tries to sound reassuring, but at the same time, Mark feels as if he himself is the one in need of reassurance. He turns his head to the side instead, looking at the shadow of Lucas’ face. “What about you, though? What’s in it for you if you take the stand against the Dictator?”

Lucas huffs a laugh, as if Mark’s asking something incredulous, before shifting his whole body towards his left side to fully look at him. “Freedom.”

“Seriously?”

“They’re even going to make me a consultant.”

Mark gapes at him in disbelief. It’s odd that Interpol would willingly let a high profile contract killer such as Lucas go unscathed. “Holy shit. What did you do for the Dictator?”

“Nothing, really,” Lucas answers with a soft chuckle. “He just tried hiring me to kill someone.”

“And?”

“You know I don’t do jobs for assholes, sweetheart.”

The statement unexpectedly makes him laugh. It’s true, after all, that the man follows a strict code to never carry out jobs if his supposed target is innocent. Mark even sometimes wonders if that’s the reason why Lucas had always been after his high-value transports.

Mark stares back at the ceiling, listening as the street outside slowly comes to life, and takes in a deep breath. “Get some rest. I’ll stay up and guard.”

He feels an arm reach over to his side, followed by a hand covering his own, and Mark freezes, unsure what his reaction should be. Lucas squeezes his hand, a soft, gentle press that doesn’t do anything to calm his speeding heart rate down, and inches closer toward him.

Maybe his co-trainees at Sherman Kent were right.

Lucas is, in a lot of ways, a _beast_ … but Mark realizes that he doesn’t really mind diving headfirst into his belly.

“Don’t go.”

#  **LUCAS**

**RUE DUPONT, SCHAERBEEK, BELGIUM  
0915H – 08 FEBRUARY  
8** HOURS BEFORE DEADLINE

He wakes up to the sound of an alarm going off.

Sunlight pours through the sheer white curtains, causing him to avert his eyes from the source of the light and snuggle closer to the warmth and comfort of the body next to him.

_Body._

Lucas’ eyes fly open, wincing as they adjust to the brightness of the room and casting his squinted gaze down upon the thick black hair right in front of him, only to automatically smile at the sight before him.

Mark has his head buried in Lucas’ chest, releasing puffs of slow, shallow breaths against his shirt while his arms are wrapped tightly around his waist, keeping him as close as possible. The Bodyguard looks peaceful like this— _younger_ , even—and a part of Lucas is begging for him to stay in the moment with Mark.

Just the two of them against the world.

The man conveniently shifts away from him, however, and Lucas seizes the opportunity to sit upright, pull the forgotten blanket over Mark, and make his way to the bathroom.

He looks at his reflection in the small mirror above the wall-mounted sink, momentarily letting his eyes wander down to his white shirt as it clings onto his skin, embossing the crescent-shaped scar just above his heart.

The only memory he has left of _him_.

He shakes his head, moving away from the mirror as he takes off every piece of clothing he has on, and shakily turns the cold, metallic valve up, allowing millions of icy droplets racing to cover every inch of his exposed skin—and Lucas can only close his eyes and duck his head under its mercy, letting his body embrace the cold as he drowns his thoughts to the rhythmic beat of the shower’s pitter-patter.

A familiar face unbiddenly etches its way into his mind, seemingly stripping him off of his defenses and lulling him into the fond, wistful feeling of nostalgia.

He remembers the feeling of those calloused but gentle hands caressing his nape, the soft, plump lips that couldn’t seem to take themselves away from his skin, and the eyes that were only on him.

Lucas gasps, opening his eyes in haste to shake away the memories from crawling back. Two years and a half in custody is a long time, he supposes, and sometimes he wasn’t able to contain all of _him_ out of it.

He rushes to finish his shower, stepping out of the bathroom with a quick glance at Mark’s sleeping form, and heads downstairs to dress up and prepare breakfast—if there’s anything edible in the kitchen.

There’s a bag of groceries on the table, most probably from one of the convenience stores they had passed by this morning, and Lucas can’t help but grin, dispelling any sort of discomfort he had earlier.

Mark probably snuck out to buy them before tucking himself back in bed with Lucas.

Lucas works quietly and efficiently, letting the ground coffee brew in the coffee maker while he fries a couple of eggs and toasts four pieces of bread. It’s been a long time since he last cooked for himself, way before he was brought into custody, and it turns out to be more enjoyable than he had remembered.

For a moment, he’s forgotten that he’s supposed to be a witness to a man who has caused the longest and bloodiest drug war in history.

Until he hears the faint footsteps descending the stairs.

“Morning, sunshine,” he greets cheerfully without looking back, putting the last of the eggs on one of the two plates he has readied. “Oh, good, you’re all dressed. We’ll leave in ten.”

Mark looks immaculate as ever while wearing his neat black suit with his hair all brushed up. The man knows how to carry himself well even if he isn’t trying, a natural charm that would pop out here and there, and it makes Lucas wonder if the man would get along with him.

 _He_ would probably even fall in love with Mark.

Mark sits on the breakfast nook in front of him. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“You looked so comfortable.” Lucas pours the man a cup of coffee before placing one of the plates in front of him. “I figured a few minutes wouldn’t hurt.”

The man murmurs a quiet thanks but looks at him skeptically. “You didn’t leave.”

“Of course not,” he answers, forking half of one egg and stuffing it in his mouth. “I wouldn’t want to risk having Agent Lee’s wrath rain down on you.”

Mark chuckles and takes a sip of his coffee. “Thank you.”

Maybe it’s the sunlight or maybe it’s his mind playing tricks on him, but Lucas swears the man’s ears have turned into a deep shade of red—just as they did when he had first called him an endearment.

He smiles. “Anytime, sweetheart.”

⌖

“We should eat.”

Lucas looks over to the man on his side, wondering what Mark is going on about. “There’s no way you’re already hungry again.”

“I meant once we get to The Hague, _genius_ ,” Mark responds with a scowl before smiling at a toddler who’s waving at them.

“Oh? Taking notes on the nicknames, aren’t we?” Lucas teases, tilting his head to the side as he waves back at the toddler. “I was hoping for something more romantic, but I guess being called a _genius_ also works.”

“Why did I agree to transport you,” he hears Mark mutter under his breath, prompting him to puff out a chuckle. The man continues walking forwards without looking back, letting Lucas fall behind as he scouts their surroundings.

They’ve been walking in circles around the area for ten minutes, trying to find a place where they could rent a car, but all they could find are buses en route to the northern bus station.

It’s frankly starting to annoy him.

“Please don’t tell me this is your way of asking me out,” Lucas asks once had caught up to the man. He leans towards him, making sure that the man would see the wide grin on his face. “You’re on a job, sweetheart. Ask me after.”

Mark scoffs and glares at him. “Asshole.”

He chuckles, prompting Mark to narrow his eyes at him, but before the man could say anything again, Lucas turns to an old lady who’s sitting at one of the park benches. “ _Excusez-moi, Madame. Savez-vous où je peux louer une voiture_?”

“ _Oh, oui. Mon frère possède un magasin de location de voiture_ ,” the woman beams at them and turns her head eastward, pointing at a bookshop sign two blocks from where they’re standing. “ _Marchez jusqu’à la librairie et prenez à gauche_.”

He smiles in return and makes a small bow. “ _Merci beaucoup_.”

“ _Avec plaisir_.” The woman looks back and forth between them, giving them both a knowing look. “ _Vous faites un joli couple_.”

Lucas laughs heartily, placing a hand on the small of Mark’s back before bidding the old lady goodbye. He looks at the man beside him, noticing the tinge of red on Mark’s cheeks. “You need to work on your expressions, _mon cher_.”

“People are trailing us,” Mark responds instead, subtly looking sideways to his right and at the two men wearing identical black coats and flat caps while keeping an eye out at another group of men that had been following them since they had reached Saint Mary’s Royal Church.

“I know.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

Lucas shrugs. “Last I did, you attacked them and then fell asleep on the way here.”

Mark doesn’t seem to hear him, however, keeping his focus on the men as he visibly clenches his jaw, probably waiting for an opportunity to ambush them without raising suspicion but Lucas has to intervene.

They’re not going to meet the deadline if they pursue these men.

He firmly grabs onto Mark’s arm, making sure that the man stays by his side. “Don’t.”

“What?”

“Save your energy,” Lucas says softly. “We might need it later.”

#  **MARK**

**OOSTDUINLAN, THE HAGUE, NETHERLANDS  
1438H — 08 FEBRUARY  
TWENTY MINUTES** BEFORE DEADLINE

_There goes their lunch._

Mark blocks a blow to his head, quickly whipping the edge of his hand at the base of the man’s neck to knock the wind out of his lungs, and punches him a couple of times in the stomach before gently laying him down.

He has always been careful to not do any fatal damage to the mercenaries that were sent after him and his transports. They need to make a living, too, he supposes, and it’s one of the highest paying jobs he knows.

It would be unethical of him to take that opportunity away from them.

Lucas, on the other hand...

“We’ll have to reschedule our first date, babe,” the man beside him says, a single drop of sweat appearing on his forehead as he changes the empty magazine of his gun before carelessly flinging his body in the middle of the street.

Mark curses under his breath, looking around to see if there are other mercenaries behind them before following Lucas’ lead with his gun at the ready.

They’ve been ambushed by the Dictator’s men outside a cemetery just a few minutes away from the International Criminal Court, totaling their rented car and making them run on foot in the middle of a packed street.

He counts about a dozen men who are hot on Lucas’ trail, shooting nonstop in his direction, but the man thankfully steers away from civilians, constantly shouting at everyone to either duck or move away.

And judging by the state of things, he’s starting to think that Lucas is right about himself.

_The man is definitely unkillable._

Mark disarms a couple more men, occasionally shooting them at nonvital spots without hitting anywhere that might be potentially fatal, before the loud honk of a car to his right startles him.

An old sedan with a smashed windshield and a wrecked hood stops on the open street to his right, revealing a bloodied Lucas with a smug grin on his face. “Going my way?”

“Let’s go.”

Lucas chuckles and presses on the gas, launching the car forward at high speed. Mark doesn’t even get the chance to process the ride, constantly looking behind them to check if there are still people following their car, when Lucas suddenly hits the brakes, almost causing him to fly outside.

“Name?”

An armed man in a military fatigue uniform with the symbol of the International Criminal Court on his beret leans his head in Mark’s window, prompting him to gasp in surprise and almost pull a gun to the man’s head.

He hears the man beside him huff out a chuckle, but pays no mind to him, clearing his throat instead. “Mark Lee. I’m here with your witness, Lucas Wong.”

The armed man nods. “Follow me.”

Around ten armed men in uniform escort them upstairs, all running to the Trial Chamber as they have only less than two minutes on the clock before the judges dismiss the case and effectively put the Dictator back in power.

The armed man who asked him his name earlier pushes past the double doors of the Chamber, emitting an audible gasp from the audience and all heads in the room turn to their direction.

Mark sees one of the lawyers from the prosecution stand up just as a loud beeping sound goes off to indicate that they have reached the deadline. “Your Honors, I present Lucas Wong.”

Rodrigo Go’s defense lawyer stands up as well, mouth tight and brows furrowed as he angrily looks at their direction. “Your Honors, with all due respect, the deadline has passed.”

“We still had a few seconds on our clock, Mr. Lawrence.”

“How do I look?” Lucas quietly asks him, running a hand through his hair before buttoning his coat.

“You’ve got a little red on you,” Mark answers while vaguely gesturing at the man’s bloodied dress shirt. “But you look good.”

“Will the prosecution please prepare their witness?”

Lucas grins at him. “See you later, golden boy.”

He smiles back despite his exhaustion before standing near the Chamber’s exit, watching as the contract killer walks to the stand and wondering what Lucas might be hiding under his sleeves.

“Mark, _Jesus_ , are you okay?” Nakyung worriedly asks, suddenly materializing next to him.

“Yeah,” he says with a single nod. “He’s okay, too.”

“Thank you,” Nakyung responds, also turning her attention to the man seated on the stand. She pats his back, indicating that she’s going back to her seat, but leans in. “For the record, even _I_ couldn’t make you smile like that.”

Mark scowls at her but chuckles, nonetheless. He’s already had a long day, he might as well go with flow.

The prosecution lawyer stands near Lucas with a sheet of paper in his hand. “Your name is Lucas Wong, is that right?”

“No,” Lucas answers, looking straight at Mark with a small smile. “My real name is Wong Yukhei. I named myself Lucas when I became a contract killer.”

“Thank you for your honesty, Mr. Wong.” The lawyer smiles and sets the paper on his own table. “Were you ever in the employ of Rodrigo Go?”

“No.”

“Have you ever met Go?”

“Yes, back in 2019. He sent me to the Palace for a confidential meeting.”

“Prosecution exhibit 23-D, the Palace’s security logs.” The lawyer says as a grainy picture of Lucas entering the Dictator’s official residence appears on the projector screen to their left. “Did he offer to hire you during your meeting?”

“Yes, he did.” Lucas shifts his eyes to the Dictator sitting beside his defense lawyer. “He wanted me to kill Ambassador Xiao and his family for knowing too much, but I refused.”

“Is it because of your late fiancé and son of the late Ambassador, Xiao Dejun?”

Mark freezes in his spot.

 _Late fiancé_.

The Xiaos died just days after Lucas was brought into custody.

“No.” Lucas’ gaze hardens, as if he’s holding so much anger inside him. “Because when I was there, he ordered his generals to kill every prisoner who had been caught criticizing his government. I don’t do jobs for assholes who can’t take criticisms.”

“Do you have any evidence to corroborate this story?”

“I always have,” the man answers in a monotonous voice before nodding at a court clerk. “Go to FTP site Lion 252.”

“Exhibit 27-D. We’ve confirmed the coordinates.”

The court clerk turns to him. “It’s asking for a password, Mr. Wong.”

“Oh, it’s _GOfuckyours3lf_ with the word _Go_ in all caps and the letter _E_ is replaced with the number three.”

Mark—as well as everyone in the Chamber does except for the Dictator’s legal team—snorts a laugh and shakes his head in disbelief. Lucas definitely knows how to piss people off.

A series of images pops up on the screen, all with evidence of police brutality, but Lucas asks the court clerk to play one of the videos on the site.

The video shows the Dictator looking directly at the camera, possibly captured through either Lucas’ contact lenses or eyeglasses, as he’s offering a deal to kill the Ambassador. A man who’s dressed in a police GOA-A uniform enters the frame after a couple of seconds and whispers in the Dictator’s ear. The Dictator laughs, introducing Lucas to the general who’d just joined them, before going into great detail about what he’s going to do to the critics that they’ve caught.

Everyone in the Chamber stays still, horrified as they listen to the man’s words.

“You fucking son of a bitch!”

Mark turns his head just in time to see the Dictator standing, face all red in rage as he glowers at Lucas.

“Order! Order in the court!”

“You want the truth? I’ll give you the truth,” he screams at the judges, voice loud and booming inside the enclosed Chamber. “I did everything you accuse me of and I will not apologize for it!”

Several people gasp in shock, murmuring to each other as if they’re watching an afternoon drama, and the Dictator looks at them—his ego seemingly inflating even more. “I am the best ruler that my country has ever seen and I will not recognize any authority that limits my power to do anything as I please.”

_Boom!_

A loud explosion from the left side of the Chamber catches everyone off-guard, prompting several members of the court along with the civilian audience to either rush outside or hide under their desks while debris and pieces of concrete fly inside the room.

Mark, on the other hand, stands completely still, his eyes focused on the Dictator who’s somehow managed to pull out the gun of one of the Court’s armed men.

And he’s going to shoot Lucas.

Ah, _fuck it_.

Mark’s brain short-circuits.

He doesn’t even know what his plan is. One moment he’s near the Chamber’s exit and the next he finds himself running to the witness stand. He leaps just as he hears the sound of a gun being fired, covering Lucas with his own body, and drags the man with him to the floor.

He doesn’t register anything at first, the sharp whistle of the bullet still ringing in his ears, until he feels a large hand covering the side of his stomach while Lucas’ voice echoes through the air, seemingly asking for help and a medic.

“Mark, _baby_ , hey,” Lucas murmurs softly to him. Mark tries focusing his gaze, unsure why his vision is all blurry, and sees the man kneeling over him with a worried expression evident on his face. “Stay with me, sweetheart. Stay with me.”

Mark briefly shifts his eyes to where the Dictator was previously standing. “You should go find him.”

“No,” Lucas says sternly. “You still owe me a date, darling. I won’t leave until you promise me that you won’t die.”

“You’re such an asshole,” he croaks, swallowing a groan as he feels a sharp pain on his side. “I promise.”

Lucas’ expression immediately changes and he looks at him with so much fondness that Mark can feel his insides burning. Lucas leans in, pressing a gentle kiss on his forehead. “I’ll be right back.”

Mar’s breathing starts evening out as he’s applying pressure on his wound with his own hand as his eyes follow Lucas until the contract killer gets out of the Chamber.

He smiles one last time before letting everything around him fade into black.

#  **LUCAS**

**INTERNATIONAL CRIMINAL COURT  
OUDE WAALSDORPERWEG, THE HAGUE, NETHERLANDS  
1729H – 08 FEBRUARY**

_Tick_.

 _Tock_.

 _Tick_ —

He tunes out the loud ticking of the old clock by the corridors as he runs as fast as he can to catch up to the Dictator and his men, paying no attention to the ache that’s slowly creeping back up his left leg.

There’s a trail of bodies lying on the floor, most of which are of the Court’s armed men, and Lucas follows them all the way to an emergency exit leading to the building’s rooftop.

A hand forcefully grabs his arm as soon as he reaches the topmost floor, almost knocking the gun off his hand as the attacker aims to stab his side with a tactical knife.

Lucas quickly maneuvers their positions, shooting the man twice in the chest before taking the knife out of his hand and stabbing him with it.

He hurriedly opens the exit door, eyes darting around to see if there are other men on the lookout, only to see the Dictator panting heavily as he sits on the ledge of the building.

From a distance, the old man looks broken, as if he just wants to rest and be done with everything, and Lucas briefly wonders if this is the reason why his fanatics still view him as a father figure.

_The vile man knows how to look and act like a victim._

“Lucas Wong,” the Dictator calls out in a wheeze. “The hero of the day.”

Lucas approaches him carefully, keeping his guard up in case one of his men jumps him. The Dictator has an ugly smile on his face, still cocky even when he’s already been cornered, but his eyes are both droopy.

“Go ahead and kill me. But know that this won’t change what you are,” the old taunts. “You’re a killer, _Wong Yukhei_ , and all your heroism today will be overshadowed by that.”

“I don’t care about being the fucking hero, you fucking dipshit.” Lucas chuckles, standing a few feet away from the Dictator. “You fucked up when you shot _my_ bodyguard.”

He watches as the old man’s face twists in confusion.

 _It’s priceless_.

“Who?”

Lucas cocks his gun and grins at the old man. “His name is Mark _fucking_ Lee.”

And then he shoots the Dictator right in the forehead.

**LE JARDIN du LUXEMBOURG  
PARIS, FRANCE  
2353H – 14 FEBRUARY**

Lucas can’t stop shaking his right leg.

He’s been staring at Ottin’s _Polyphemus Surprising Acis and Galatea_ sculpture in the front of the Medici Fountain for almost fifteen minutes now, trying to distract himself from the ticking of his wristwatch, and he hasn’t moved since.

He realizes that he’s never felt anxious before—well... at least before the _incident_ —and it’s making his insides feel as if he’s sitting on top of a drop tower.

“How long have you been standing there?”

Lucas whirls around, his eyes adjusting to the darkness of his surroundings, and sees Mark standing in front of him.

“You’re really here,” he breathes out.

Mark walks towards him, closing the distance between them, and smiles with a raised brow. “Do I look like a ghost to you, genius?”

He doesn’t know what came over him, he doesn’t even know how he got away with it, but Lucas has somehow managed to pull the man closer, cup the sides of his face with both hands, and lean down to kiss Mark like his life depends on it.

Everything falls into silence around him.

The birds have suddenly stopped chirping, the crickets have stopped singing, and the leaves have stopped rustling. All Lucas can hear is his rapid heartbeat and the sound of his mind gearing.

That is, _of course_ , until he feels a pair of hands finding their way across his back while Mark tilts his head to take control of the kiss.

There aren’t fireworks like in the movies or novels, _hell_ , there aren’t even any sparks crackling in his ears, but it sure as hell doesn’t stop his heart from leaping out of his chest.

Mark’s lips taste like chocolate and a hint of mint, a flavor combination that Lucas has always hated, and yet in that moment, all he could think of was how Mark tastes like heaven.

A brief thought of _oh, fuck!_ enters Lucas’ mind, his brain finally catching up to the realization of what he just did and what they’re doing, and promptly breaks the kiss, opting instead to rest his forehead against Mark’s. “Sorry.”

“What?”

“Most people don’t kiss on their first date—”

“Lucas, _baby_ ,” Mark sighs into his mouth, shattering the last of Lucas’ resolve. “Shut the fuck up.”

He does.

_But with Mark’s lips against his._

**Author's Note:**

> 1 Darius Kincaid: the Hitman in The Hitman’s Bodyguard; played by Samuel L. Jackson   
>  2 _Moien; Schwätzt du Lëtzebuergesch?_ (lux.) = Morning; Do you speak Luxembourgish?   
>  3 _Nee; Englesch_ (lux.) = No; English   
>  4 _Villmols merci_ (lux.) = Thank you very much   
>  5 _Excusez-moi, Madame. Savez-vous où je peux louer une voiture?_ (fr.) = Excuse me, Ma’am. Do you know where we can rent a car?   
>  6 _Oh, oui. Mon frère possède un magasin de location de voiture_ (fr.) = Oh, yes. My brother owns a car rental   
>  7 _Marchez jusqu’à la librairie et prenez à gauche_ (fr.) = Walk to the bookstore then turn left   
>  8 _Merci beaucoup_ (fr.) = Thank you very much   
>  9 _Avec plaisir; Vous faites un joli couple_ (fr.) = With pleasure; You look like a cute couple


End file.
